Journeys
by lilsherlockian1975
Summary: So, I wrote a series of Journey inspired stories. I know, I know sounds corny, and undoubtedly some might be, but they will all be fun. Ratings will range from K to M Some will be angsty, some sexy, some fluffy, but I promise Sherlolly throughout. I will list the rating and give any warnings at the beginning of each one shot, please read and enjoy... Thanks Lil
1. Don't Stop Believin'

**_Yes, I wrote a series of Journey song fi... Nope, Journey inspired stories... Only me, right?!_**

 ** _Many thinks to OpalSkyLoveDivine for betaing this for me. A fellow Journey lover and Sherlollian. I am also gifting this story to her because her amazing review of SiL inspired this series._**

 ** _I own nothing... let me make this perfectly clear... I own no lyrics or characters._**

 ** _Enjoy, oh and, don't stop believin'! Good God I'm corny!_**

 ** _This one is -T, for a bit of naughty talk (just a tiny bit.)_**

* * *

Don't Stop Believin'

* * *

As Sherlock and John made their way down the hall toward the morgue, a sound started to fill their ears. Now John Watson, having fully experienced popular culture and well... a normal life, knew exactly what he was hearing. Sherlock Holmes on the other hand, looked at his friend in complete and utter shock.

"What the hell is that?" he yelled, and went from his normal quick walking pace to a full on run in a split second.

"Sherlock wait!" John called out.

But it was too late. Sherlock had the door of the morgue open before John could stop him. When the doctor caught up with his friend, he found the detective standing, staring at a petite woman in a white lab coat, her back to the pair, hips swaying, hands in the air and she was singing...

 _'Don't stop... believin'! Hold on to that fe-a-lin'! Streeet lights... peee-opaaale! Dooon't stop believin'! Hold oooooon! Streeet lights... peeeeopaaa...'_

On the final 'people' she turned and jumped, when she realised that she wasn't alone. She pulled her ear buds out of her ears and said, "Oh, hi guys. Here to see Mr. Smith I presume?"

Sherlock shook himself out of his stopper. "Molly, are you okay?"

She looked back and forth between the two men. "Of course I'm okay, why wouldn't I be?"

"What on earth were you just doing?" he asked in astonishment.

John saw where this was going, and he didn't like it. He had witnessed Sherlock tear the poor woman apart on more than one occasion and had no desire to see it once again (even if it was warranted this time; that was some pretty awful singing). "Sherlock, she was obviously singing. Don't be rude, or try not to be, in your case," he very quickly interjected.

"Is that what that was?" Sherlock questioned.

Molly seemed unaffected. "Yes, I was singing. I was singing the greatest rock song of all time, by the greatest rock band of all time," she stated proudly.

John smiled, crossing his arms over his chest, curious about how this was going to end.

Sherlock shook his head. "Molly, the sounds coming out of this morgue scared me half to death. I thought you were being murdered."

Molly gave the detective a bemused glance, totally missing the concern in Sherlock's voice. This, however didn't go unnoticed by his blogger.

"Okay, so I'm no Steve Perry," Molly said playfully.

Sherlock leaned in. "What's a _Steve Perry_?"

Molly looked at John and rolled her eyes, then looked back to Sherlock. "Steve Perry, was the lead vocalist of the American rock band Journey from 1977 to 1996. Although he took two breaks to record his solo projects, Street Talk in 1984 and All For The Love Of Strange Medicine in 1994. What you heard me singing was Journey's hit song Don't Stop Believin'."

Sherlock looked both dazed and a bit bored. "I only understood the numbers in those sentences. Years, I believe they were."

John couldn't hold in his laugh. "Molly, I didn't know you were such a fan. You know they're still touring, right?"

Molly Hooper shot John a look of pure, unadulterated contempt. "DO NOT besmirch the name of Journey in my presence John Watson. THAT band may be on tour, but Journey is not Journey without Steve Perry!"

John blinked, almost frightened of his friend. He'd never seen her so angry – well, that wasn't entirely true. But he hadn't seen her this mad since Sherlock's failed drug test.

Sherlock, though he hated to admit it (even to himself), loved seeing Molly all worked up (especially when it wasn't directed at him). She had a lovely pink glow about her and her nostrils flared every so slightly. He easily hid his excitement, as he did every time. Frankly he was just happy that he got to witness this and hadn't had to do anything to cause it.

John finally dared to speak up. "Molly, um so sorry. I didn't know you felt so strongly about the 'Steve Perry situation'. I didn't even know you liked American pop music." He ducked his head. "Again, sorry." _Good Lord_ , he thought, _did I just bow to her?_

" _Rock music_ , John. And, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled. I do tend to get worked up about the subject. It's why I don't bring it up. It's a bit of a hot button with the fans. Some of us have stayed true, while others..." She looked away and continued to seethe.

Sherlock was completely lost, but enjoyed seeing Molly agitated.

"Um, well what's got you Journeying today, if I may ask?" he said with a laugh, trying to keep the air light and away from dangerous, _New Journey_ topics.

"Oh," she said with a bright smile, seeming to switch gears rather quickly. She started unbuttoning her lab coat, then she took it off and laid it on the counter next to her. She turned to the men and she caught her bottom lip in her teeth, managing a cheeky grin at the same time. She grabbed the bottom edge of her jumper and...

 _Hold on just a tick..._

 _Let's travel into the minds' of Three Continents John Watson and The Boffin Detective for just a moment, if you don't mind..._

 **Joh** n: _Good God... Molly's about to flash us her beast... I can't see this... I can't see this... Oh but I'd want to. Mary'd understand, right? I'm still a man, for God's sake... And I'll give her a full report... it's for science. Yes! Here we go!_

 **Sherlock:** _Finally! How many years has it taken? Oh, but of course John would have to be here... he ruins everything! Forget about John... you're about to see Molly's breasts... Focus! Keep the Palace clear!_

 _Okay, thanks... back to the story..._

...grabbed the bottom edge of her jumper and pulled it up, revealing a... Journey concert tee-shirt, Frontiers to be exact.

She lowered her jumper with a wide smile to find two very disappointed men in front of her.

"What? Isn't it cool? I found a web site where you can order all kinds of old concert tees. I may have ordered five," she added sheepishly.

Sherlock huffed. "Yes, very interesting. Now Mr. Smith's body." He walked over to the slab.

"Oh right, sorry." Molly followed.

Sherlock started to examine the body while John listened to Molly talk about Journey and Steve Perry ad nauseum. Sherlock tuned them out, for the most part. He heard her talk about how this Perry was a bit of a recluse and didn't do a lot of interviews. Oh, but he still wrote, and possibly recorded as well. On and on she went... he was so lovely... he was ' _the Voice'_... Journey invented Arena Rock, whatever the hell that was. Okay, maybe he paid a bit more attention than he had intended. After about fifteen minutes, Sherlock had what he needed from the corpse... he also had an idea.

* * *

 _Two months later..._

Molly followed Sherlock down to the lobby of their posh hotel, trying to keep up with his quicker pace. "Sherlock seriously, you haven't told me a thing about this case or why you needed me to come at all?"

"All in due time, Molly."

"Are we meeting the client or a witness here? Come on Sherlock, I came all the way to LA, and you've told me absolutely nothing," she whined.

"It will be abundantly clear, very soon," he said with a smirk that made Molly more than a bit uncomfortable.

He sat her down on a sofa and left her there. Moments later he returned with a glass of water for her, then took a seat next to her. His odd behavior was offering her no hints whatsoever as to what was going on. After taking a drink of water, she asked, "Well?"

"Any minute now," he said, as his eyes darted around the room.

She shook her head. Seven years, _you'd think I'd be used to these sort of things_ , she thought. Suddenly she felt Sherlock's hand on hers; her heart rate automatically picked up.

He leaned closer. "Do try to remain calm," he whispered in her ear then stood up, letting go of her hand.

A man approached and extended a hand to Sherlock. Well,not just _a_ man... not just _any_ man... _that's... that's... OH, GOOD LORD!_ Molly was certain she must be dreaming; it was the only explanation for the fact that Steve freaking Perry was standing in front her, shaking hands with Sherlock Holmes. She was vaguely aware that they were speaking, but she couldn't hear them over the beating of her own heart. Then all of a sudden, there was a hand in front of her (the other end of said hand was attached to the former lead singer of Journey), and she was expected to touch the hand... shake it even. _Oh, Dear Lord._

Molly managed to raise her hand and extend it in his general direction; thankfully he took over from there. He took her hand, brought it to his mouth... and freaking kissed it. Molly had read books in which women got 'the vapors'. Now she understood the term, completely. _Steve Perry's lips are on my hand,_ she thought.

She knew she was supposed to speak, but no actual words were forming. He released her hand (still tingling from his lips) and sat down across from them.

"Thank you for meeting us, Mr. Perry," Sherlock said.

"Please, call me Steve."

 _His speaking voice is as sexy as his singing voice_ , Molly thought.

He turned his attention to her. "I understand that you're quite a big fan, Dr. Hooper."

Molly stared, motionless.

Sherlock looked between the two. "Ah, yes. Molly has been educating me on your career, Stephen."

The singer gave Sherlock an odd look. "She has?" He turned back to Molly. "A pathologist and an biographer. You're multi-talented, Doctor," he said with a wink.

Molly made sort of a throaty whine.

The men looked at each other.

Sherlock spoke up again, "Molly, did you have something you'd like to ask Stephen here? He was kind enough to meet us today."

She looked terrified for a moment, then got up and dashed across the lobby.

"You've lost your girlfriend, mate," Steve said with a chuckle.

Sherlock stood up to go after Molly, then turned back to the man. "She's not my girlfriend and don't say mate. You're not British and can't pull it off."

He found Molly on the other side of the bar. "Molly, what's wrong? I thought you'd love this... he's your idol. You wouldn't stop talking about him that day in the morgue."

It took her a moment to regulate her breathing, but finally she was able to speak. "Y-yes Sherlock, it's amazing. B-but... I-I can't believe you did this... I mean, S-steve P-perry is sitting over there." She peeked around the bar to make sure he was still there. Yep. Sherlock was still in full view of the rock star, but Molly had hidden herself behind a large fern.

"Why?" she whispered.

"Why? Why what?" he asked with a look of pure innocence on his face.

Molly looked at him like he had lost his mind. "Sherlock, this... this is... I mean how did you even pull it off? He doesn't do things like this... h-how?"

He suddenly looked a bit proud of himself. "Oh, it was nothing. Just have to know the right people." He took her hand and pulled her away from behind the fern. "Now, come along; we only have him for an hour."

"Wait, you never explained why."

Sherlock looked around and fidgeted a bit. "Well, I just... you love the music... and he's no longer in the band... and so you can't, well..."

Molly relaxed for the first time since _the Voice_ showed up and smiled at her detective. "You just wanted to do something nice for me, didn't you?" she asked.

Sherlock sighed. "Um... yes," he finally admitted.

"This is an awfully big gesture, Sherlock." She tugged at the end of her blouse and looked up at him through her eyelashes. "Thank you, I'll try to act like a normal person when we get back over there." Then she leaned up, using Sherlock chest to steady herself, and placed a kiss on his cheek.

Sherlock stood stunned for a moment while Molly continued to look at him, not yet removing her hands. Finally, he snapped out of his daze. "Molly, it _is_ an awfully big gesture. Don't you believe I'm owed a better kiss than that?"

Molly licked her lips and nodded as Sherlock leaned down to accommodate their difference in height. She reached up and threaded her fingers into his hair then brushed her lips across his. Sherlock took over from there, deepening the kiss and pressing Molly firmly against his body.

Across the lobby a semi-retired rock singer watched and furiously scribbled in a notepad, while humming to himself. _There's a love song somewhere in this_ , he thought as he wrote.

* * *

 _ **So, what did you think? I have many more written. Understand, the rest aren't about Journey (even I don't love them that much). Only this one, but since it was DSB, and their biggest hit, I had to make this one about them. The rest are simply inspired by the songs or titles.**_

 _ **Come visit me on tumblr, same name. Thanks for reading.**_


	2. Loving' Touchin' Squeezin'

**_Lovin' Touchin' Squeezin'_**

* * *

 _This one's 'T' for colorful language -_

 _ **Summery:** Molly stumbles upon a very drunk and very bitter Sally Donovan at a local pub and has to listen to her complain about Anderson's cheating ways. Sally also takes the opportunity to point out Sherlock's awful treatment of Molly... no good deed goes unpunished, right?_

* * *

 _Thanks to opalskylovediving for her beta work and mizjoely for helping with a problematic paragraph._

 _I own nothing - Enjoy_

* * *

Molly huffed as she entered Patrick's scanning the crowd for Meena. All she wanted... really wanted was her comfy sofa, a warm mug of cocoa and her cat. What she had was a hysterical best friend, demanding that she meet her at a local watering hole, so she could drown her sorrows in several pints. Meena suspected her current boyfriend of being unfaithful. So Molly being Molly, immediately agreed to meet the sobbing woman for a drink, even though she had just worked a twelve hour shift.

As Molly scanned the bar for her best friend (she was easy to miss - being even shorter than herself), her text alert went off.

 **Dinesh showed up at my flat- we're talking it out.-Meena**

Then another.

 **Sorry, hope I caught you before you got to the pub.-Meena**

 _Of course,_ Molly thought, but as she turned to leave she heard a familiar voice. A snotty, nasty, abrasive voice.

"...tell me I've 'ad enough. I'm a damn police Sargeant. I know the legal limit, mate."

Her eyes traveled to the source of the belligerent rant. Molly stood there for a moment and pinched the bridge of her nose. This night just keeps getting better and better, she thought. She could just leave. She hadn't been seen. It's not like this was her responsibility, anyway. Then her utter goodness took over (oh how she hated that part of her personality sometimes), and she made her way to one of her least favorite people in London, possibly the world.

"Hi, Sally," she said taking the stool next to the inebriated woman.

An extremely drunk Sally Donovan turned toward Molly and said, "Well, if it isn't Miss Holly Mooper."

Molly snickered. "That was actually pretty close."

Sally turned to the bartender. "Get my friend a drink!"

"I'm good, nothing for me tonight," she said, glancing up at the exasperated man behind the bar.

"Awww, come on Maddy. It's bad enough that I'm shaggin' a piece of sshite, good for nothin', wanker. Don't make me drink alone too," Sally whined.

"Maybe," Molly suggested, "you've had enough. I think water might be your best friend right now."

Sally huffed.

She took the two waters and smiled as the - _oh, mmm, ruggedly handsome_ \- barkeep mouthed 'thank you' with a wink. "Here, drink this," she said pushing the water toward the pissed police Sargeant.

Sally begrudgingly took the glass, looking off in the distance. "I mean... what'ssswrong with me? I'm pretty, right?"

Molly nodded.

"I'm good at ma job."

Molly nodded. _Wouldn't be half as good without Sherlock around to help solve cases for you_ , she thought.

"I got nice gams." She kicked legs out and bit and nearly fell backwards. Thankfully Molly caught her and helped her back onto the stool.

"Do people still say gams, Sally?"

"My ole man did. Always talked about my mum's gams. Those two... that's love."

Molly felt bad for the woman, she really did. Sally may be rude and she didn't like the way the Sargeant spoke to Sherlock or about him, for that matter. But no one deserved Philip Anderson... no one. "I take it Anderson reconciled with his wife?"

The woman whipped her head around. "Not only that, but he didn't tell me. Just kept right on shaggin' me."

What did you expect, she thought. "I'm sorry, Sally."

"I shoulda been ready for this." She turned to Molly. "Like you and the Freak. He treats you like a doormat, but at leass you know where you stand, right?"

Molly nodded sadly.

"At leass he doesn't pretend to be human. At leass with the Freak you know he won't tell you he loves you then go shag his wife. In that you're a lucky girl Hooper, very, very lucky."

Molly tired to hide her sadness, she didn't want Sally Donovan, of all people to see the look in her eyes at that particular moment, so she turned her face towards the door.

"Ah shit! I'm ssorry, that was... Molly? I shouldn't-ah..."

"It's okay Sally," Molly said turning back around and standing up. "Let's get you in a cab, yeah?"

* * *

Molly walked up the stairs feeling completely drained. By the time she reached the door she felt like she could sleep for a week. She was shocked to see a light on in the sitting room.

"I thought you had a case?" she asked.

"And I thought you were staying at yours tonight? What happened to drinks with Meena?"

She shrugged off her coat and tossed down her bag as she kicked off her shoes. "That didn't happen. _They're talking_. I'm so glad you're here," she said as she curled up on Sherlock's lap.

"What happened?" he asked, tucking her head under his chin.

"Can't you figure it out?"

"You know I go out of my way not to deduce you... much," he added as an afterthought.

She giggled. He did try to let her tell him about her day rather than the other way around; it was actually adorable. Sometimes he looked like he was going to erupt. She was convinced one day he was going to vomit six months worth of deductions, all at once. Either that or he kept a diary of all of his deductions; she wasn't sure which.

"I ran into Sally Donovan, she was completely pissed. She was also about one pint away from castrating Philip Anderson."

Sherlock chuckled. "Finally found out about the wife, did she? I wondered when that was going to happen." He pulled her face up to look at him. "So what? You rushed here to make sure I didn't have another woman in 221B?" he asked lightheartedly.

She hit him on the chest. "Of course not, you big idiot." She snuggled back in close. "But she..."

"Ah," he cut her off. "She said nasty things about me and my treatment of you, and you wished you could set the record straight."

It was quiet for a moment before Molly spoke. "I thought you'd still be out on your case. I just wanted to sleep in your bed."

Sherlock kissed the top of her head. "You know, it was your idea to keep this a secret."

"I know," she whispered.

"And," he said running his hand underneath her jumper to gently stroke her back. "if you moved in here, you wouldn't have come _over_ and sleep in _my_ bed. You could come _home_ and sleep in _our_ bed."

She sighed and nodded. "I know," she repeated.

They stayed like that for several minutes; Molly felt herself drifting, nearly asleep.

"Come on. Let's get you to bed." He nudged her to stand up.

She reluctantly unfolded herself from his lap and walked into the bedroom. She gathered her night things then retreated to the bathroom. When she was finished she returned to the bedroom to find Sherlock reclined in his bed.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

He smirked. "I appear to be lying in my bed Molly, care to join me?"

"You're going to bed? It's not even," She looked at the clock on the bedside table. "10:30, Sherlock. You can't be tired."

He held up an arm in invitation, so Molly crawled into bed. He tugged her close into his side and kissed her forehead.

Molly sighed and thought that nothing in the world felt better than lying in Sherlock's arms after an utterly shit day. _Could it always be like this_ , she wondered. She had been holding off because... well, she was afraid. She was afraid that this was some kind of experiment and would it all end one day. That he would decide she was a distraction to the Work and he'd toss her aside. Or that he wouldn't be able to give as much as she wanted, but that wasn't true... not at all. He had been wonderful and giving. Completely free with his affections and letting things progress at her pace. He'd actually been patient with her. She was the one holding back; she was the one keeping them from moving forward. She was the one who hadn't said...

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"When you said...well, you know... you really meant it, didn't you?"

"I did Molly. But if you're still having doubts..."

"No. I'm sorry." She leaned up. "You know I love you, right?"

"That I do," he replied with a warm, very un-Sherlock-like smile that absolutely melted her heart, even if she had seen it several times over the last few months.

"I think it's time, Sherlock." She had tears in her eyes.

"Are you sure? You don't seem ready."

"Happy tears." She smiled. "You'll learn to love 'em." Then she leaned down and kissed the only man she had ever really loved.

* * *

 _Thanks for reading... Let me know what you think_

 _Lil_


	3. Why Can't This Night Go On Forever

_Why Can't This Night Go On Forever_

* * *

 _Okay, this one is **M** , but it's not explicit. This is one of my all time favorite Journey songs, so I kind of went for it on this time... reeeeally hope you like it. There is a lot of angst, but never fear... there is a follow up to make up for the pain and I will post it very soon. _

_Of course need to thank my beta, MizJoely. She's too good to me.  
_

 _And I own nothing._

* * *

 _What's in our hearts, there's never time to say._

 _Need you tonight lover don't fade away._

* * *

Death didn't scare Sherlock Holmes. He had come to terms with his own mortality many years ago. He wasn't afraid to die. Yes, he was young, but he had lived a full life. Most people would say he had lived several. He had solved crimes, imprisoned murderers, shut down international crime syndicates. He had saved his best friend... twice, three times, oh he had lost count at this point. He had no regrets... save one. But he was about to rectify that.

He calmly approached the familiar door, and knocked. It opened revealing a freshly washed young woman, wearing her night clothes and looking more than a bit surprised.

"Hello Molly. May I come in?" he asked.

She didn't speak, just stepped back, allowing him entrance. He removed his coat and scarf, then turned to face her. She was still standing by the door, refusing to meet his eyes, and he knew why; she didn't want him to see her cry. But on this night, he was prepared for it. He'd almost welcome it.

Of course she wasn't expecting to see him tonight, or ever again, for that matter. Being aware of her importance to Sherlock, but ignorant of what his brother's last request would be, Mycroft had informed Molly about the events of the past several days, and the consequences as well. _She knew._

She finally found the resolve to raise her head. He looked deeply into her now-wet eyes. What he saw nearly crushed him; eight years of love, eight year's worth of pain.

And for him eight years of denial.

He could go to his death knowing he had done the right thing for his friend and his family. But he could not go without making sure that Molly Hooper knew that she was the one and only occupant of his heart.

He smiled. Somehow, that's all it took. _Of course._ She had always known him better than anyone else. She saw him when no one else could. Once he let his mask go... _she knew_. Letting it go was all it would have ever taken to have all he'd ever wanted. A gut wrenching sob broke out of her throat; he was across the room in seconds, arms circling her waist and pulling her into him.

She shook her head into his chest as she cried. Yes, this was selfish, bordering on cruel. But he had denied himself Molly Hooper for eight years; stored every feeling and emotion about the woman in a brightly colored room in his mind palace simply marked: _home_. And now this was all he would ever have. All she would ever have, of them. A single moment of selfishness was permitted when one was being sent to their death, right?

She pushed away from him and looked up. "How long," she whispered.

Whether she meant how long had he loved her or how long did they have, he really didn't know. But he chose to answer the latter, because telling Molly Hooper that he had loved her as long as he had known her, was too unbearably painful at that particular moment. He cupped her damp cheeks, his thumbs brushing away her tears. "I can stay the night," he said leaning down to kiss the soft skin beneath her ear.

"S'not fair," she cried.

"No, it's not. But we both know who shoulders the blame here." He kissed the tear tracks on her cheeks. "We only have a few hours Molly. I'm so sorry."

She shook her head. "Take me to bed."

* * *

 _Without love we won't survive._

 _Run together we rule the night._

* * *

Sherlock had had sex before, he wasn't the virginal specimen everyone made him out to be. There was university and drugs. He had even had the Woman in an ill-fated attempt to rid himself of the desire to throw Molly Hooper down on the closest flat surface and take what he had always wanted. But he had never actually _made love_ once in his life. As he watched the final piece of Molly's clothing fall from her body, he realised what an enormous difference there was between the two. He saw the love in her eyes and felt as if his chest might explode with the knowledge that she not only wanted him, but loved him so deeply in return.

She lay down on her bed and watched as he finished getting undressed. He was willing to admit, if only to himself, that he was somewhat nervous. He really had only one shot- well, he was hoping for several - but he still had to make this count.

As he removed his pants, he watched for Molly's reaction. She was pleased. _Good._ He joined her on the bed, lying down next to her. His brother said six months, and he was never wrong about these things. Sherlock wanted to memorize every inch of this woman. He'd need to revisit this to help him survive as long as possible and perhaps... _no, no point in hoping for the impossible_ , he thought as he pulled Molly in for a kiss. Their lips met and he suddenly felt more alive than he had since Christmas Day. The numbness that had taken over his limbs was gone. He was hyper-aware of everything: her lips, her scent, her skin... _her._ He ran his hand down her side, gripping her hip and pulling her close.

Molly took hold of his hair and tugged. For a moment Sherlock thought their first encounter would end then and there, but he managed to regain control and refocus his attention onto her and her body. She was so much more perfect than he had ever imagined. Her soft curves, always kept well hidden under ill-fitting clothing, seemed to call to him, so he gladly answered.

He wanted to go slowly, but his body must have had other plans, as did his Molly. She pushed him onto his back and crawled on top of him. She took his erection in hand and positioned herself over him.

"B-but I-I should..." he stuttered, motioning toward the point where they were about to be joined.

"I'm ready Sherlock, I've been ready for years," she said as she teased herself with his shaft, then lowered herself onto him. His mind stilled as he allowed himself to be entirely enveloped into Molly's tight, wet heat. At that moment he knew why he had denied himself this lovely woman above him. Had he allowed this to take place all those years ago, not only would have she been in constant danger, but he would have never accomplished anything. Ever the addict, he knew only his death would keep him from returning to this paradise once he had set foot on its hallowed shores.

She went slowly at first as he met her thrust for thrust. He tried to catalog every touch, every feeling, every sound, but it was all too much. When he felt the first tears falling on his chest, he took her face in his hands and kissed her with everything he had, everything he had denied her for years.

She wept even harder as she chased and found her end. It should have been off putting, and under any other circumstances, would have been. But he knew Molly was seeing a future that could never be. When he felt her come undone it drove him over the edge; there was a moment of utter relief and pure pleasure. Then he was crying as well. He pictured Molly curled up on his lap at 221B. He pictured her in a white veil standing in his parent's garden. He pictured her holding a small crying bundle. The door to her room had been broken down, and everything that was and could never be came flooding out en masse.

Molly lay on Sherlock's chest, both of them weeping, both of them knowing that in just a few short hours, this would all be over.

* * *

 _Lost in twilight, the memories._

 _Precious moment, you and me._

* * *

He looked at the clock, 5.17am. He had less than forty-five minutes. He decided not to wake her; they had said everything there was to be said in the moments between their lovemaking, though the words weren't really necessary.

After the first time, they were both a bit more in control of themselves. Sherlock was able to finally show Molly that his mouth was good for something other than insults and demands. As he lay next to her in the early morning hours reviewing their activities, he realised he needed to keep himself in check, he didn't have time to take her again before he had to leave.

 _Leave._ He sighed. He thought back to the words they had spoken before their last encounter.

 _Molly lay on her back with Sherlock's head on her chest. She was absently carding her fingers through his hair as he traced the curves of her abdomen._

" _I have no right to ask anything more of you Molly. But I have one last request, as it were." He didn't stop his hand, didn't look up._

 _Molly did, however, her fingers stilled. "What is it, Sherlock?" her voice barely above a whisper._

 _He paused, gathering courage he didn't think he possessed at the moment. "I, ah_... _" He swallowed. "I need you to move on. I need to know that you won't be alone- won't be lonely. I can't bear the thought of that." He could tell she was holding her breath. "I can do this... go to my..." He stopped, he couldn't say it, not to her. "I know that what I did seems wrong, but I did it for the right reasons, Molly. So I can take my punishment knowing that John and Mary will be safe; their child will be safe. But please, for me, if nothing else..." He looked up at her, tears falling down into her ears. "I'm so sorry, but I need this, you need to move on." He tried to smiled, though it was forced and didn't quite reach his eyes. "If anyone in this world deserves happiness, it's you Molly Hooper."_

" _Okay," she said in an unsteady whisper._

 _Sherlock kissed her lips sweetly. "Someone like Meet Dagger, but smarter," He rolled his eyes. "Obviously. Love him. Have children. Be happy. But please don't forget me."_

 _She shook her head. "How am I supposed to love anyone after you?"_

" _Oh," he said with a smirk. "You won't love him as much as me, of course."_

 _Molly laughed and cried at the same time. "You are such an ass."_

" _Yes, I know," he said with a laugh._

 _She pulled him down for another kiss. When the kiss ended they stared at each other for several moments. "I don't want anyone else, Sherlock."_

" _You must promise me, I can't die thinking of you alone, Molly. Please?"_

 _More tears collected in her hair and ears. "Fine." She looked away. "I promise, I'll find someone to love, but he won't..."_

" _I know." He kissed her cheeks and wiped away her tears. "Thank you, you have no idea how much this means to me."_

 _She turned back to him. "One more time, please?"_

 _Sherlock grinned. "Do you even have to ask?"_

After filing the memory in Molly's room, Sherlock got up quietly and got dressed. He walked into the kitchen and placed an envelope on the table. He started to walk away, but paused. Looking around he finally found what he needed and went back to table, broke the seal on the envelope and pulled out the letter. He sat down and frantically started to write.

Two minutes later he was finished and he had replaced everything. Standing and taking one more look around, knowing this would be the last time he would see this tiny flat, he bent down and scratched Toby behind the ears. "Take care of her, Tobias," he said before he picked up his coat and walked out, without looking back.

* * *

 _Thanks for reading! Like I said, there is a follow up. Should be up tomorrow - it's all ready to go. Let me know what you think._


	4. Good Morning Girl

_Good Morning Girl_

* * *

 _This one's_ _ **T -**_

 _Here's the follow up. I know, the last one was a tiny bit sad, sorry about that. Thank you all for following and reviewing these stories – it really means a lot to me._

 _Of course thanks goes to MizJoely for betaing this, she's the best!_

 _I own nothing – enjoy!_

* * *

Molly woke up to an empty bed. She wasn't surprised. She was almost grateful. Neither of them had said anything about goodbye and she was glad she didn't have to. Toby jumped up and rubbed his head against her shoulder, demanding attention. She drew a deep breath that ended in a sob. _Well, that won't do_ , she thought, trying to find the strength to get up and function like an actual human being. She finally got out of bed and padded to the en suite. After last night's activities, the first step back towards humanity was indeed a shower.

She tried desperately to keep her mind blank, but as the near scalding hot water fell on her body she couldn't help but recall Sherlock's hands, his mouth, his tongue, his... As her thoughts drifted, she felt her body reacting. But just as she started to bask in the memories of the last few hours, the reality of her future set in and she broke down. Molly sobbed alone in her shower until the water ran cold. She finally got out and dried off. Toby was impatiently waiting outside the bathroom door, desperately in need of his morning meal.

She waved him off and drifted into the bedroom in search of clothes, but settled on her dressing gown instead. She picked up her phone to call in sick to work, but found a message waiting. Hoping it was from Sherlock she quickly opened it.

 **Dr Hooper, St. Barts has been informed of your illness and that you will be taking the remainder of the week as well. Let me express my deepest apologizes for any discomfort you may be experiencing. And understand if there were any way alleviate it, I would. - MH**

 _Mycroft Holmes, apologizing_... and an unspoken declaration of love from Sherlock. If things weren't so bleak, she could really enjoy the sudden turn her life had just taken. She only allowed herself a moment to ponder it before pulling herself up and attempting to start her day. Following a very hungry Toby into the kitchen she finally got him his breakfast, then started the coffee maker. She watched the black liquid drip for several minutes before turning and absently scanning the room.

That's when she saw it.

An envelope sitting on her kitchen table. _Molly_ , it read. She could tell it had been sealed and reopened. Knowing it could only be from one person and that it would most likely cause her day to get worse, she waited until the coffee finished brewing and poured herself a cup before picking up the letter and taking it to her sitting room.

She sat down on her settee. After taking a large fortifying drink and a deep breath, she finally opened the letter.

 _I'm so sorry, but there are things I have to say to you and I may not get the chance tonight, or I may very well completely chicken out. Who knows?_

 _Business first: Mycroft is in possession of my will. He is under the impression that he has the only copy, this is not the case. My parents also have a copy of it. I have set up a trust fund for John and Mary's child, but the rest of my estate is to be left to you. Don't let him change it! He is a devious bastard and will do anything to make me miserable, even posthumously. Don't argue about the money Molly, I had very little use for it in life, so no doubt in death, it will be better used for a larger flat for yourself or perhaps a trip around the world. But knowing you as I do, you_ _will_ _simply put it in savings._

 _Next, please look after Mrs. Hudson for me. As you know she has no family and she could use a friendly face every once in a while (and I can think of no friendlier face than yours.)_

 _John and Mary can take care of themselves, of course, but I would feel batter knowing that you will remain friends, though I can't force that point._

 _This next one is important;_ _Don't date Gordon Lestrade_ _. He's not good enough for you and it would never work._

 _I hope I had the strength to ask you to move on Molly, but just in case I didn't... please, Molly find a nice man and make babies. You will be a magnificent mother. I hope they all look like you. You're so beautiful._

 _Lastly and then I'll stop because it's almost time to go meet you. I love you. I didn't tell you did I? I should lead with it, but I will most likely not work up the nerve to say it out loud, and for that I'm sorry. You deserve to hear it – loudly and often. So make sure when you find him, he tells you, all the time._

 _I'm sorry I kept my heart from you Molly, but you of all people know how bad I am at these sort of things. Worse than that, it would have put you in danger. Now you'll be quite safe._

 _Goodbye Molly Hooper, it's been wonderful._

 _Sherlock_

Molly could barely breathe by the time she finished reading the letter. She took a deep breath and tried to compose herself, because the was more... at the bottom, there was something added in purple ink. He must have added it before he left that morning. She wiped her eyes and picked up the paper once again.

 _Six months, give me six months before you move on. I know what I said, but if you'll wait for me I will do everything in my power to come back to you Molly Hooper, I swear to you that I will try. Please give me one chance to come home. After six months go find a nice boring man and have lots of little Molly-looking babies and be happy without me, but until then, let me try... let me try for you. The truth is you are the only thing that can actually bring me home. I have to go. Bye._

 _Yours Always, Sherlock_

Molly dropped the letter on the floor and fell onto the settee once again, crying uncontrollably. Of course she'd wait, of course she'd give him time. She was his and she needed _him_ , not some nice boring man... How the hell was she going to live like this? She had thought loving him without hope of reciprocation was bad... it was nothing compared to this pain. After about forty minutes of crying and dozing she finally fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Molly was having the most amazing dream.

"Good morning." _Kiss_. "Molly." _Kiss._ "Molly." _Kiss._ \- Sherlock was there, not on some death mission. He was holding her, kissing her neck. "Morning." _Kiss._ Oh, she could smell him, she hadn't ever smelled someone in a dream before.

"Sher-lock," she mumbled.

"Ah, there you are." He was slipping his hand into her dressing gown - stroking her back.

"Mmmhmm. This feels so real," she slurred.

He chuckled. "That's because it is real my love."

Molly opened her eyes and they suddenly met his. Sherlock's eyes, here in her flat not flying across the world. "How? Wh-what's..."

He kissed her gently as he untied her gown and pushed it opened. "Doesn't matter." _Kiss_. "I'm here."

Molly pushed him back. "Sherlock Holmes, it certainly does matter. What's going on?" she asked,not noticing that she was now completely exposed.

"You haven't seen the telly today I suppose?"

"I've been a bit busy crying myself to sleep. So no, I wasn't watching the telly!" she practically yelled.

He kissed her at the end of her rant. "You are _stunning_ when you're angry, did you know that?"

"Sher..." Molly started but couldn't finish because John and Mary Watson came busting through her front door.

"Holy Mary!" Mrs. Watson exclaimed.

Sherlock rushed to close Molly's gown as she shrieked.

John had the decency to look away, though it didn't stop his wrath. "Sherlock, you were supposed to call when you reached Molly! At the very least you could have answered your mobile!" Then he whispered to his wife, "Is it safe?"

"Yes, though you really missed it, Molly's hot!" she answered with a goofy grin on her face. "Pilates?" she asked the nearly naked pathologist.

John shook his head. "Not the time, Mary."

Sherlock had finally jumped up from the sofa. "Though Molly's excessive regime _is_ fascinating, as you can see, she is fine and we wish to be alone, so..." he said as he pushed the couple back towards the door.

John stopped and turned back to the detective. "So, you and Molly?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "You finally get there did you?"

"How long?" the doctor asked.

Sherlock looked pleadingly at Mary.

"Come along John, I'll explain. Have fun you two!" she called out as she dragged her husband through the door.

Sherlock turned to find Molly standing with her hands on her hips. "Well, are you back for good? Seriously, Sherlock, what's going on?"

He snaked his arms around her back and pulled her close, burying his nose in her hair. "Yes, I'm back. I believe this is Mycroft's doing, though I could be wrong and if that's the case you will be in danger." He kissed her neck. "Either way you'll have to come stay at Baker Street." He pulled back and looked into her eyes. "Think you can stand that?"

If she'd had any tears left to cry she would have, but as it was, she didn't. "I believe I can handle that. Now back to that good morning you were trying to give me..."

* * *

 _See, I promised! Thanks so much for reading! Please let me know what you think._

 _Lil_


	5. Suzanne

**_Suzanne_**

* * *

 _So this one has NOTHING to so with the song. I simply love Suzanne. But I will drop a 29 year old rumor on you though... the story goes that this song is about Suzanne Somers (of Three's Company fame... and that's the second Three's Company reference I've made in a fic... I swear it will be my last!) Is it possible that old Stevie and Suzie had a thing? Hmmm? The 80's, got to love 'em!_

 _This one is rated **'T'** \- We have a tiny bit of angst and a jealous Molly here._

 _Big thanks to OpalSkyLoveDivine for betaing this, she is far too good to me! Bless her! I own nothing - enjoy!_

* * *

"Sherlock, what's this?" Molly asked, holding a crisp, cream colored business card, with only a single name and a phone number adorning it.

Sherlock turned around from the kitchen table/makeshift lab to see what was in Molly's hand. "Doing your John impersonation again, Molly?" he replied.

"What?"

"John has a bad habit of pointing out or asking the obvious. You, as a general rule, do not."

"That sideways complement doesn't answer my question," she snipped

"It's a business card," he said, then turned back to his experiment.

Molly took a deep breath and said, "I am trying to help you organize this crime scene you call a home and an office. You know full well what I am asking. Is this a client's number? And if so where should I put it?" Although she had an idea of where she wanted to shove the thing.

Sherlock huffed and got up from the table to see what was in Molly's hand. "No, that's... not a client's number. You can throw it out though, as I have it stored in my phone." He turned and walked back to the kitchen.

Molly looked at the card again. _Suzanne? Who the hell is Suzanne? And why the hell does Sherlock have her number in his phone? Stop... Now! You don't do this anymore. Why do you care if Sherlock has some random woman's number? Just put the damn thing down and walk away._

 _You. Don't. Care._

Molly tossed card in the bin and walked away, but couldn't stop thinking about it.

"Is it to do with a case then?" she asked before she could stop herself.

"The experiment? No, I told you I'm testing the..." he started

"No, the number," Molly interrupted.

"Oh... no," he stated simply, as he replaced the slide and ignored her once again.

O-kay... _not a client, not a case._ Molly tried to put it to the back of her mind, she knew it was none of her business. They were friends-good friends, actually. They spent several evenings a week together if he wasn't away on a case, some of that time not even working. They would eat or just watch telly, completely normal things friends did. If he wanted to have a woman's phone number he was more than welcome to have it; he owed her no explanation.

Molly finished tidying up the sitting room and went into the kitchen. "I'm ah... gonna go home." Then she gathered up her bag and jacket.

Sherlock stood and followed her. "We haven't started the experiment yet. You've just been fussing about all evening."

"I know, but I'm a bit tired. Long day. You can handle this on your own." She motioned toward equipment behind him.

"Tired? All of a sudden?" he questioned.

Of course she knew Sherlock would see right through that flimsy excuse. "Okay, f-fine, make me say it Sherlock... it's my period." She turned again before she blushed. Even though it was a lie, it still embarrassed her to talk about that in front of Sherlock.

"No it's not." he said stopping her with his hand on her arm. "You've got another week yet."

Molly froze. "W-what? You know my cycle? Why and how would you know that?"

Sherlock looked at her like she had asked the most obvious question of all time. "I'm not answering the how, except to say if you were closer to your date, I'd be in jeopardy of being slapped for the offense. But as to the why, of course it would benefit me to prepare myself for your..." He stopped himself and looked thoughtful for a moment. "hormonal changes."

Molly wanted to be offended, but she was too busy trying to back up her lie. "These things can change Sherlock. We can talk about it when you grow a uterus. Good night," she said as she turned and left a disbelieving Sherlock at the top of the stairs.

* * *

Two days later Sherlock got called for a case that took he and John out of town for five days. Molly tried to forget about Suzanne and her ever present phone number, but that was harder than she had hoped. On the third day she was having drinks at Mary's.

"Has John ever mentioned anyone Sherlock knows by the name of Suzanne, perhaps a relative?" Molly asked as she finished pouring herself another glass.

"No, why do you ask?" Mary said after thinking for a moment.

"Nothing, just...wondering."

Mary gave Molly a curious look. "Molly, that wasn't a random question. You don't actually think..."

"Have you heard from John, then?" Molly interrupted.

The blond rolled her eyes. "Oh yes, calls whenever he can get away from His Highness. They're doing fine. Don't you hear from Sherlock?" Mary asked.

Molly looked around. "Why would I hear from Sherlock? I can hardly do an autopsy for him while he's out of town."

"Hmmm..." Mary hummed, looking at her accusingly.

"What?"

"Nothing, just... you two spend a lot of time together. Didn't you think I'd notice?"

"O-kay, but there's nothing to notice. Yes, we work on experiments together and he, of course needs my help at Barts but other than that..."

"He doesn't come over for take-away?" Mary interrupted.

"Sure, occasionally."

"Do you go to his to watch Jeremy Kyle?"

"Sometimes," Molly huffed.

"Hmmm," Mary repeated.

"Mary what exactly are you trying to say?"

"How many days a week do you see Sherlock?"

"I have no idea. It depends... if he has a case... if I'm working doubles..." Molly was trying to come up with some kind of figure to satisfy her friend.

"Does he ever spend the night?"

"If he needs to," Molly answered without thinking.

Mary gave Molly a knowing look.

"Mary, whatever your romantic little mind is coming up with, you're way off base. He and I are friends. We've been through a lot together. He needs my help and..."

"And what exactly are you getting out of this arrangement Molly?" Mary interrupted.

Molly gave Mary a heated glare. "I don't go into friendships because of what I can get out of them," she said as she stood up and picked up her bag.

"Molly, I'm just trying to point out that if..."

"No! We're done tonight. I really have enough on my plate without you trying to make more out of this Sherlock situation than it actually is. Thank you for the wine," she said as she walked out of the door.

Molly walked to the Tube slightly tipsy, a bit mad at her friend and absolutely hating Suzanne... whoever she was.

* * *

When Sherlock got back from his case he immediately started texting Molly; asking for fingers, toes, and a cancerous spinal cord, if one could be obtained. _What?_ She was able to put together a few spare parts, but the spinal cord was so random, not to mention bizarre, she would just have to disappoint the detective.

As much as she hated to admit it, she was looking forward to seeing him; she even grabbed some take-away assuming they'd be working for the better part of the night. She made her way up the stairs of 221B, and stopped dead in her tracks. The door was opened, just a crack. Sherlock was on the phone, with his back to her, completely distracted by his conversation.

"Suzanne, I..." he said, but must have been cut off.

 _Oh God, he's talking to her,_ she thought.

"Well, possibly." He ran his hand through his hair. "Dinner? Yes, yes, of course. Wh-why is this so hard? I'll never understand romance." Pause "I know you're right. I want this; I want to make it work." His voice sounded unsure. "Okay, I'll let you know. Thank you. See you soon." Then he rang off.

Molly couldn't breath, the reality of the situation was finally seeping in. It wasn't that he didn't want anyone, he just didn't want her. Guilt quickly started to overlay jealousy and self-pity; she should be happy that Sherlock had finally allowed himself to develop feelings for another person. He was her friend, she had to be bigger than this.

He didn't turn around immediately, but Molly knew now that his attention wasn't on the phone call, he would notice her. She had to think quickly. She knocked on the door, then pushed it opened. He jumped a bit and turned around.

He looked caught for some reason.

"Where'd you come from?" he asked in a very strange voice.

Molly had to make herself not laugh at the absurd question. Silly from anyone else, absolutely ridiculous coming from Sherlock Holmes. She looked behind her then back to him. "The stairs," she replied.

"Right. You've brought me..." He pointed to the cooler, not finishing the sentence.

"Oh, um here. I managed everything except the spinal cord. Sorry."

He took the cooler and sat it on the kitchen table without opening it. "It's fine. It was a long shot, I know." He looked at the bag of take-away in her hands and smiled. "You've brought us dinner?"

 _Shit!_ "Ah, I brought you... dinner," she said, thrusting the food in his direction.

He opened the bag. "I don't eat vegetable Thai red curry. You got this for yourself."

"I, ah... yes, but I have plans. I have to go."

"You bought _us_ food and then made plans for the evening?" he asked looking a bit hurt.

"Got a text... on the way here. After I picked up the Thai," she added quickly.

Sherlock looked, well, almost defeated, if Molly had to put a name on it. She was confused. She was hurt and desperately trying to leave before she cried in front of him and he realised that she had heard his phone call. "So, um... enjoy your dinner and experiment and I'll see ya, kay?"

"Right," Sherlock said. "It's just..." He looked around, breathing a bit labored. "I, ah, need to ask you something."

 _Oh no,_ she thought. _Is he about to ask me for dating advice? Not yet, no, no, no!_ "I really have to run right now, Sherlock; can you ask me another time?" she said backing towards the door.

His rolling eyes were the last Molly saw before she turned and ran down the stairs. _Wine, she thought. Wine and well, more wine._

* * *

Molly really wasn't looking forward to seeing Sherlock again. Not after the discomfort of the night before. She wished, (rubbing Toby's head for good luck) and prayed to any deity that would listen, that'd she not see him any time soon.

However luck wasn't on her side, as he came rushing into the lab the following morning. "Ah, Molly. Dinner was... good. I wish you could have stayed though. Thank you," he said as he removed his coat and draped it over the counter next to his microscope.

"Oh, well, perhaps next time." She was avoiding looking at the detective as she organized supplies. She saw him fidget out of the corner of her eye. "So how did the experiment go then?" she asked trying to defuse the awkwardness.

"I, ah never actually got around to the experiment. I'll just wait until you can stop by." Once again he sounded odd, especially for Sherlock.

She turned to face him and ask why he needed her help, when she heard Sherlock's phone ring. He took it out and she saw 'Suzanne's' name on the screen.

"If you'll excuse me, just a moment." He dashed out of the lab and into the hallway.

 _Right_ _..._ _need to get used to this,_ she thought. She finished putting everything away and went to hide away in her office. For some reason she had never really considered Sherlock falling for someone else. His rejection throughout the years and adamant insistence that he was _married to his work_ , had convinced Molly that it really _was_ him and not her. That had somehow given her comfort and allowed her to settle for the reliable friendship they now had. This Suzanne had her frazzled.

She had to make a decision; could she remain Sherlock's friend while he dated another woman or was she willing to separate herself from him simply because he didn't choose her? She considered this for several moments as she stared at the walls of her office.

She was broken out of her thoughts with a knock on her door.

"Here you are," Sherlock said as he walked in. "I need to ask you something," he said as he shoved his mobile into his pocket.

She steeled herself. "I know, but before you do, there's something I need to say." She took a deep breath. "I, ah, I'm really happy for you Sherlock. I'm glad you've met someone." Molly was trying to look him in the eyes, but simply couldn't.

"Sorry?"

"I just want you to know that I will be here and if you need anything at all, advice on d-dating... or..." She swallowed. "anything. You can ask. I-I want to be your friend, Sherlock. I want to help you in this." She finally looked back to the detective.

He looked completely confused. "I really don't know what you're talking about, Molly."

"S-Suzanne," she said. "I know about you and Suzanne."

"I'm sure you don't."

"I overheard you on the phone last night, Sherlock. I heard you planning dinner with her. You said she wasn't a client or to do with a case. As you've said yourself, once you eliminate the impossible..."

"Molly, while I admit your deduction skills are above average, this time I'm afraid you've..."

She cut him off. "Sherlock, it's okay. It's me, I won't say anything. If you're trying to keep this quiet for now..." She paused and tried to give him a reassuring smile. "You know I can keep a secret."

He closed his eyes and pulled at his hair. "Molly, she's not my... urgh... she's a professional!"

Molly's eyes grew wide. _Oh my God, she thought, he'd rather... oh... Lord!_

Sherlock opened his eyes and must have realised what she was thinking. "NO! Not that kind of professional." He huffed. "Fine, I had no intention of explaining this, but it seems I have no choice. I needed assistance in an area of social interaction that I am slightly... under educated. I didn't want to ask John for advice in my endeavor. I would've never been able to live down his... taunts. Instead, I sought out the help of a... _relationship expert_." He paused. "She's a matchmaker, Molly.

"I'm sorry? A matchmaker? Those exist?" she asked.

"Apparently," he said, sounding a bit defeated.

Molly tried to process what he had told her. When she finally finished, she realised she was really no better off... _who he was trying to be... matched with_? "Ah, so she's set you up with someone?"

He shook his head. "No, I was seeking her advice with someone I already... know."

Molly nodded, trying to figure out who he was talking about.

"I... it's... oh, for God's sake Molly! It's you! I've been trying to ask you out, but you keep running away!"

"..."

"Don't look at me like that; of course it's you. Who else would it be?" he practically yelled at her.

"I don't know Sherlock. How was I supposed to know?"

"Great!" He threw his hands up in the air. "I was supposed to be acting flirtatious and obvious. If you didn't pick up on it..." He paced away from her.

"When were you flirting with me?"

"I made a joke the last time we watched Jeremy Kyle. You even laughed and I touched your arm. You didn't notice that, did you?" He was still facing away from her and by the end of the sentence he sounded a bit heart broken.

"Well, no... but now that I know..."

"Now that you know what?" He turned back quickly. "Willyougoout... on... a date... with me?"

Molly was staring at him. _Could this actually be happening,_ she thought. She looked closely at the usually dangerously cool detective. He was rattled. "Yes. That would be... nice." She smiled.

He visibly relaxed. "Oh, good. This had been unbearably stressful Molly. Suzanne is... well, she's awful, I really didn't want to have to tell her that I failed."

Molly looked down at her feet. "Is that the _only_ reason you didn't want to fail, Sherlock?"

He smiled and crossed the room. When he was standing right in front of her he reached and took her hands. "Of course not. I have gone to a lot of trouble, put up with weeks of conversations about my feelings with an unbearably obnoxious woman, and have done dozens of unnecessary experiments just to get to this point. I would hate for all that work to have been for naught. Also," he said as he inched a little closer. "Suzanne mentioned that if I played my cards right, there'd be kissing... possibly lots of it." Then he gave her his most charming, melt your knickers, grin.

She rolled her eyes. "You know, you could have just bypassed all that other rubbish and smiled at me like that... I probably would have said yes." She reached up and pulled his head down to meet hers. Then she kissed the man with all her might. When their kiss ended she looked at the dazed detective and said, "Now we'll never know if that would've have worked."

* * *

 _Thanks so much for reading! Let me know what you think and if you have any favorite Journey songs! Come see me on tumblr...same name!_


	6. Open Arms

_**Open Arms (this one's T)  
**_

* * *

 _ **I started writing Sherlolly a year ago this month. Sherlockian87 was so incredibly supportive in those early days (and still is). I know my stories weren't very good and were riddled with mistakes, but she always commented and encouraged me. I don't think I've ever really expressed how much it meant to me (and still does). So here's my attempt at just that. Thank you so- so much for all your friendship and support. Love you, hun!  
**_

 _ **Oh and Streets, I know you said Open Arms was a 'panty dropper' but it's London, so I made up a silly thing... Hope you like it!**_

 _ **MizJoely beta-ed this, bless her (but any mistakes are all mine). And MrsMcrieff answered some Brit questions for me. Which leads me to explain something very quickly. Pandora is an internet music radio station. You select a band or genra of music and it chooses different songs for you. That should do it.**_

 _ **I own nothing here, please enjoy!**_

* * *

 _Oh joy! Yet another Valentines day spent alone_ , Molly thought as she poured herself a second glass of wine. She got up from her sofa and walked over to her front window, watching a light snow fall. After a few minutes she simply couldn't take the silence of her flat. She switched on her telly and brought up Pandora. As she scrolled through her saved stations she realised all she really wanted to do was wallow in self pity; she was entitled to it. Her engagement was long over and she had no prospects on the horizon. Oh, then there was Sherlock. _Always Sherlock_. Lurking in the back of her mind every time she contemplated love... or the future... or damn near anything, but it was completely pointless.

She turned off all the lights in the flat, then sat herself down on the floor and called out pitifully for Toby (who never actually showed up). She stretched out to reach the bottle of wine for yet another refill, only to lose her balance and bump her head on the coffee table. "Suck a duck!" she exclaimed, rubbing the sore spot in her hairline. "Could this day get any worse?" she said out loud to her empty apartment. She decided to give up on the third glass, as Lionel Richie crooned in the background, _saying hello_ and asking if it _was him she was looking for_.

 _No Lionel... it's not you,_ she thought.

Just then she heard someone at her front door, fiddling with the lock. Her day was about to either get worse, or much worse. Because she was either about to be robbed/beaten/murdered or Sherlock was back from his case. He'd been gone for three weeks... Ireland or Italy? Didn't really matter, at the moment she was trying to figure out which was worse: an unknown burglar or Sherlock bloody Holmes inconveniencing her while she was trying to get pissed and feel sorry for herself.

She decided to stay put. If she was going to die, the floor was as good a place as any.

Finally the door opened and a very tall behatted man walked in. She could tell he was wearing a hat because he was back-lit from the hallway and missing his signature curls. If she knew one thing about the man from helping him hide out during his 'mission' it was that he would keep that hair at almost all cost. _Just a transport, my arse._ She secretly compared him to Samson, wondering if he cut his hair if he'd suddenly lose his supernatural powers of deduction.

"Why are you on your floor?" Sherlock asked, shutting the door and shaking snow off of his collar.

"Why are you wearing a hat? Oh, is it the deerstalker?" Molly asked, making no attempt to get up.

"It's bloody dark in here Molly, are you drinking alone... again? Get up!" He turned on the lamp next to her sofa then crossed over to her holding out his hand to assist her in standing up.

"I'm a grown woman. If I want to drink alone in the dark, I bloody well can!" she said in a not too friendly voice as she finally took his hand and stood. "Seriously, what's with the hat?"

"Oh, I forgot," he said taking it off then tossing it deftly onto the coat rack. A cocky smile formed on his lips as he watched it land easily onto a hook. He looked back at Molly, who was staring at his hair. "What?" he asked.

"You... you're g-ginger," she stammered.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh yes, _that_. For the case." He took off his coat (not his Belstaff, no, a rough looking, leather jacket) and hung it up as well. When he turned back around Molly, she was still staring. "Molly, are you quite alright?"

She blinked several times and shook her head. "Um, yeah." She forced a laugh. "Of course, yeah. So why are you here?" she said turning and walking into the kitchen trying hard not to think about the fact that he was also wearing dark colored jeans and a tight-fitting tee-shirt.

"I'm starving and I had nothing at Baker Street."

She didn't turn around. "So instead of going to a restaurant or the shops like a normal person, you came here to harass me. Lovely." She opened her fridge.

Sherlock followed her and sat down at the kitchen table. "Well, I did just spend three weeks on a very taxing case and assumed you'd want to do your part in feeding me back up. You do so love to fuss over me, Molly," he said in his most insincere voice.

She just shook her head as she pursed her options. "Okay, I've got eggs... and... yeah, just eggs." She turned back around to face the ginger detective... big mistake. _How did I not notice the sideburns,_ she wondered.

Thankfully Sherlock wasn't paying attention this time, he was looking at his mobile. "Looks like I'm having eggs tonight then," he said not looking up from the device.

Molly tried to put her attention back on the egg preparation and make some small talk. "So, Mrs. Hudson's not in tonight?" she asked.

"She's in Dorset," he said still not looking up.

"Oh," Molly replied chancing a look back at him. The music was drifting in from the sitting room. This time George Michael was singing about being someone's _father figure_... she tried very hard not to think about the ridiculously sexy song as she broke eggs into a pan. She was frankly surprised that Sherlock hadn't complained about the music yet.

"What the hell are we listening to?" he asked as he put his mobile away.

 _It's like he can read my mind._ "It's Valentines Day Sherlock. I was listening to sappy love songs... alone, in my flat. I didn't know I was going to be getting a visitor." She popped some bread into the toaster. "And how do you not know this song? Did you even have a youth? Or did you just spring fully grown from Mycroft's brolly?"

Sherlock actually laughed at Molly's joke. "I did indeed have a youth, Molly. Though it's a bit patchy in spots."

 _Oh, the drugs,_ she thought. _We're comfortable enough to talk about that now._ She turned back to him.

"I deleted unimportant things such as tragically romantic and..." He cocked an eyebrow and smirked. "And evidently erotic love songs from my mind palace."

Molly drew a deep breath as she buttered the toast that had just popped up from the toaster. _I reeeally didn't need to hear him say the word 'erotic' right now_ , she thought.

Finally his food was finished and she handed it to him along with a cup of tea then sat down in front of him as he ate.

He cut his eyes up at her. "Aren't you eating anything?"

"I drank my dinner," she said.

"You really shouldn't drink alone, Molly sets up a bad precedent," he said before taking a bite.

"Yes, well..." The song had long since changed, and suddenly Tina Turner was asking her _what love had to do with it?_ Which was a very good question, now that she thought about it. As she glanced at Sherlock with his ginger curls, long sideburns and five o'clock shadow... Oh goodness she was getting herself worked up. Yes, she defiantly had a type. Tall, dark and handsome... but damn him and those sideburns. They just did something to her. And why was he somehow sexier as a ginger? She was staring, though she didn't realise that she was.

"Molly, are you enjoying watching me eat?" Sherlock asked as he took one last drink of his tea.

She, of course, snapped out of it then. "Oh, sorry. Zoned out a bit there." She stood up. "All finished?" she asked as she picked up the obviously empty plate. _Clearly he's finished Molly, you horny idiot_ , she thought at she put the plate in the sink then steadied herself against the counter top.

"You're acting a bit strange tonight." She heard Sherlock say from right behind her. Then she saw him put his tea cup in the sink. She cut her eyes up at him. "Ah, it's the hair, isn't it?"

Molly sighed. She really couldn't get away with anything around this man, could she? It was completely unfair. "Well, you _do_ look different." She tried to play it off and concentrate on the music, unfortunately Chris Isaak's Wicked Games came on... quite possibly the sexiest song in the history of...

Sherlock leant against the counter and folded his arms across his chest. "So, is my hair that disconcerting that you feel the need to stare Miss Hooper."

 _~What a wicked game you play to, make me feel this way.~_

Molly tried very hard not to say anything stupid- anything incriminating, however when she turned to look at the man standing next to her dam just sort of... broke. "You look really fucking sexy, Sherlock, alright?!"

The smile that crept onto his face was not only alarming, it was downright terrifying.

Molly backed away from the sink trying to put as much distance between herself and the detective as possible. "Um, I mean... it's just... too much wine. You staying here? Do I need to make up the spare?"

Sherlock followed her movements, but as she started to move down the hallway, he blocked her path and she had no choice but to dart back into the sitting room. The song was winding down and she prayed for something innocuous to come on next. _Come on, I could really use some Rick Astley right now_ , she begged. Her prayers, however, went unanswered.

Suddenly Sherlock was right in front of her and the worst possible song came on... Molly gasped. Sherlock risked a glance at the telly. "What?" he asked.

Molly bit her lip and tried her best not to tremble. _Not fair... not fair at all!_ A ginger, sideburned Sherlock...and _Open Arms_ blaring in the background. Molly closed her eyes trying to regain some control. Not a smart move as it turned out, because suddenly Sherlock was very, very close.

"Dance with me Molly Hooper?" he said right next her ear as he placed a hand on her back while taking one of hers in his other hand.

"Wh-why?" she asked, eyes still close.

"Because it's Valentines Day. Because you obviously love this song. And because I'll only be a ginger for a few more hours."

Molly didn't exactly answer, but she was engulfed in Sherlock's arms nonetheless. She didn't dare open her eyes, she was afraid she'd wake up in the middle of the floor from the concussion she'd apparently given herself.

Sherlock leant down. "What's with the song Molly?" he whispered in her ear.

She huffed. "Don't want to talk about it Sherlock," she replied through gritted teeth.

"Hmmmm."

They continued to dance as the song's end fast approaching, Molly felt Sherlock releasing her back, though he held onto to her hand. He picked up the remote and restarted the song then tossed it onto the coffee table.

"What..." she started.

"It's a very short song."

This time he put both of her arms around his neck and placed his hands dangerously low on her back – almost, but not quite touching her bottom.

Molly melted into his embrace. She felt like a teenager again, dancing like a couple of kids at a school disco. As the singer crooned on and on begging some unamed woman to stay with him as he came to her with open arms... Molly lost herself for just a moment. She actually forgot that she was in her pj's in her living room dancing with the _bane of her existence_. That's when she realised that the song started up yet again.

She moved her hands down to Sherlock's well defined chest and pushed back a bit. "Sherlock? It's playing again."

"What'd you know?" he said with a smirk. "It will keep playing until you tell me what it is about this song that got you all... _distracted,_ Miss Hooper." They were still gently swaying.

 _It's all just a ploy for information,_ she thought. Fine, if he was playing games, she'd just play along and end it before her heart got broken into tiny little pieces. "This song, it's... well, a knicker-kicker."

Sherlock stopped moving. "A what?"

She rolled her eyes, realising how incredibly ridiculous this would sound to the consulting detective. "A song a bloke plays to get into a girls... pants. To... get rid of her knickers. Get it?" She made a face as if it should have been obvious, which it would have been to anyone other than Sherlock Holmes. She expected a derisive sneer or snarky comment but instead, Sherlock threw his head back and laughed. A loud, lustful belly laugh.

"What? Remember you're the one who asked," she said defensively but with a smile forming on her lips.

He laughed a little more then looked down at her, his smile never dropping. "Apropos, don't you think?"

"Sherlock, don't be an asre. It's bad enough that it's Val..." Her words were cut off by Sherlock's mouth as he crushed his lips to hers. Molly tensed then relaxed. The kiss was absolutely lovely. His lips were soft and warm as they glided over hers. She was just getting used to his amazing lips when suddenly his tongue grazed her lower lip. She opened to him and heard him emit a growl as he deepened the kiss. She raised her hands to his curly ginger locks just they broke for air. "Bloody hell, Sherlock! What the hell was that?"

Sherlock smirked, his eyes dancing over her face. "A kiss, Miss Hooper. Would you like another?"

Molly smiled dreamily and nodded.

He leant back down but this time he kissed her jaw just in front of her ear. "I want to kiss other parts of you too, would you like that?"

Molly's knees started to shake. _Oh, my God,_ she thought as Sherlock gripped her waist holding her up against a wall, that suddenly appeared behind her. _When did we move..._

"My hair... does something for you, doesn't it?" he asked bringing his face square to hers, brushing his nose against hers lightly.

Molly was still stunned and a bit shell-shocked, but managed to answer. "It's d-different... yes."

"So we can, just for tonight, pretend... that I'm still someone you want," he said looking almost shy.

 _What the... he- he thinks I don't still want him_ , Molly thought. "Sherlock, it's not just your hair..." she started.

"Yes, I deduce you're enjoying the sideburns as well." He placed opened mouth kisses along her jaw, trailing down her neck.

Molly tired to focus, though it wasn't going well. His hands had moved down and were skimming just under the waistband of her pajamas as he continued to lavish her neck with kisses and gentle nibbles. "Sh-Sherlock, I– oh God, that feels good. Um, I..." Molly paused trying to decide if her were brave enough to finish her sentence.

"You what, Molly?" Sherlock asked in a voice so deep Molly was sure she could feel the reverberation in her toes.

"I- I n-never stopped wanting you," she finally managed.

Sherlock backed up so quickly Molly almost fell over, she hadn't even realised that she'd been leaning on him. "Yes, yes you did. Your exact words were: 'I've moved on'." Molly must have made a face, even if she didn't realise she had, because Sherlock ran his hands through his orange locks and huffed. "Gabe told me. Not to mention you were engaged and having _quite a lot of sex,"_ he said in a mocking voice.

Molly rolled her eyes, even in the middle of... whatever was happening, because _really Gabe_?

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Was I close at least?"

"Not really, though I've heard you call him worse." She took a deep breath. "Look, I don't know why you're acting like this..." Molly waved her hands in the air ineffectually. "But, my engagement _did_ end, remember? Or did you delete that?" She moved past him to walk towards her sofa. "I certainly hope not, what with all the snogging," she mumbled under her breath.

Sherlock was right on her heals. "Molly..."

She turned around again to find herself inches away from the detective. "What Sherlock? I have no idea what you want or why you kissed me, and... said... things."

His eyes fluttered around the room almost frantically; he seemed to be on the verge of panic. "I always miss..." he muttered to himself.

Molly was, well she was confused. She was confused and a little worked up. What in the world was going on? She felt like she'd stepped into some alternate universe. Looking up at Sherlock for some kind of direction only confused her more. He seemed to have slipped into his mind palace for a moment. She wanted him to either go and leave her to her peaceful bitterness or get on with the snogging. _And damnit the song is still on repeat!_ Molly rushed over, grabbed the remote and hit thumbs down on Open Arms. "Oh, no. I meant to hit skip. I hate it when I do that," she said staring at the television. It didn't help that U2's _With or Without You_ came on immediately after. Molly threw her remote at her sofa in disgust. _Can't I get a freaking break tonight._

She was completely done- finished with Valentines Day, with Bono and with Sherlock's _mystery kisses_. She turned off the telly, marched up to the consulting detective and goosed him... hard.

Sherlock yelped in pain as he came out of his self-imposed trance. "For God's sake Molly! What was that for? I was thinking."

"You invade my home, con me into cooking you dinner, then kiss me breathless. No explanation other than you usual weirdness. Now explain or get out!" Molly was almost yelling at the man by the end.

Sherlock stared down at her for several seconds then he sort of lost it. "I fancy you! Happy?" he yelled back. "I fancy you and I thought you were over me. But tonight you got that _look_ in your eyes!"

"What look? I didn't give you a look!" Molly yelled back, mostly because she was caught up in the fury of their argument. That would also explain how she seemed to miss the 'fancy' part of his explanation.

"You're denying _the look_ when you actually said that I looked really fucking sexy?" he argued.

Well that shut her up.

Sherlock took a moment. He was just staring at Molly. His eyes softened and he lowered his voice. "I haven't seen that look in a very long time."

That's when the 'fancy' caught up to her. _Oh... oooh_. Molly didn't really know what to say. Sherlock was biting his bottom lip and concentrating on her hardwood floor. Finally she couldn't take it any more. "Sherlock," Molly said taking a step closer as she gathered her thoughts. If this had happened three or four years ago, she would have assumed he was playing with her feelings. But not now, not since the Fall. She knew she'd seen the real Sherlock Holmes that night, this was something they were both aware of. He couldn't fool her anymore. The experience had changed things between them. "I'm a bit confused. If you thought I wasn't interested... anymore, then what... I mean..."

When he looked back up at her, Molly's words died on her tongue because she saw something she'd never seen before in the detective; he looked sad and almost embarrassed. It wasn't the look of vulnerability he given her that night before the Fall, nor was it the look of utter loss he had about him the night afterwards. This was something completely different. It frankly broke her heart.

"Honestly?" he asked and Molly nodded.

"I thought, perhaps, I could have just one night. I hoped, it would be enough." He swallowed and looked away. "I could store it in my mind palace and hold on to it. Maybe it could," he said struggling with his words. "Comfort me when I had to watch you fall in love, get married, have the life I can never have."

Molly didn't realise she'd started crying until Sherlock finally looked back up and met her eyes.

"Why are you crying, Molly?"

She had to actually think about it for a moment; she was so overwhelmed by everything that had just happened. "Because I know how this hurts- what your feeling, that is." As much as he drove her insane, she'd never wish the kind of painful longing that she'd gone through for the last six years on him... never. Not even for a minute. She wiped the tears off of her cheeks then asked _the question_... the question that could possibly break two hearts at once. "Why can't you have... that life?" _What's holding him back now?_

Sherlock seemed genuinely shocked for a split second, but he quickly recovered. "Because I thought I had missed my chance."

Molly felt relief wash over her. She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms across her chest. "You're an idiot."

Sherlock huffed. "I assure you, Molly... I'm not."

"Well you are. And if that's your only reason..." She shook her head. "Oh, fuck it," she mumbled as she launched herself into his arms. He caught her and held her tight to his chest, as this time Molly made it hard for Sherlock to form a coherent thought. She kissed him as he stumbled backwards until his legs hit her over-sized arm chair and they landed with a _humph_. Breaking the kiss Molly said, "I never moved on, Sherlock. I couldn't." She felt rather pathetic saying it out loud, even as Sherlock held her and looked at her adoringly. "But I wouldn't have ever though you felt the same. Bloody, prideful..."

Sherlock cut her off. "Well, I think it's quite a lucky break that I came over for nourishment this evening, Molly. Don't you?" He kissed her again.

"You don't believe in luck." A breathless Molly answered when the kiss ended.

"Oh, I don't know... ginger hair, a case in Ireland then I come home to find you alone on the most romantic, yet ridiculous holiday ever conceived. And you have to admit, of all the songs that could have played..."

"You don't know how many times I've listened to that song, Sherlock. It's no surprise that the station chose to play it."

"But right at that moment? Come on Molly, the universe is rarely so lazy," he said with a wide smile.

* * *

 _ **Please let me know what you think, I love hearing from all of you! Visit me on tumblr, same name. ~Lil~**_


	7. Mother, Father

**Mother, Father**

* * *

 _I've never written ParentLock before. Again, pushing myself. This is my attempt to fill my own personal 'prompts'. It may be horrible, who knows. At any rate, Mother, Father is a very obscure Journey song they did for a soundtrack of a Japanese movie. It is, however on the Time3 box set. I do hope you all enjoy this (fingers crossed)._

 _This one is rated **T** (It's also a bit angsty... but I promise goodness.)_

 _The lovely and talented OpalSkyLoveDivine beta read this one, though all mistakes are mine. MrsMcrieff answered my Brit questions, which were many. Bless her!_

 _I own nothing._

* * *

"I have a surprise for you," Molly told Eddie as she finished drying him off after his bath.

The five year old beamed and turned around. "Papa's coming!" he squealed.

"Ya know, you could let me tell you at least once," she said, a huge smile on her face.

"Tonight?" he asked. Molly nodded and he flung his arms around her neck, completely unashamed of his state of undress. "Quick, Mummy. I need to pick out a book."

Molly and Eddie rushed into his room and found his nightclothes. They were just going through his favorite books when the doorbell rang and the over-excited child ran past his mother and down the hall. Molly chased after him.

"Sherlock," she said as Eddie practically jumped into his father's arms.

Sherlock smiled at Molly, then carried his son into the house.

Molly stayed in the sitting room and gave the two of them their time alone. It was so rare. She sat down in her favorite chair and took a deep breath.

It had been four months this time. Four excruciating months. The long absences were wearing on her child, and she didn't know quite how to go about navigating them. She was used to it. Edmond was not, nor should he be.

One night, one beautifully horrible night nearly six years ago, had changed both theirs lives. But for Sherlock, it was simply too much.

o0o

Molly was safe. Sherlock had saved her from Moriarty and brought her to Baker Street. Why? She didn't know. But he looked at her like she was the most precious thing on the planet and then it was a head long rush of mouths and tongues and hands. Clothes were suddenly gone, they didn't even make it to the bedroom. They made love in the sitting room of 221B Baker Street. It was glorious. Safe, exhausted and sated, Molly fell asleep almost immediately, head resting on Sherlock's chest. However, she woke up alone. Sherlock was gone. She gathered her things, dressed in the bathroom and rushed home.

She didn't see Sherlock again for two months. He didn't come into St. Barts. He didn't text. He didn't come to her flat. He simply disappeared.

By the time he finally showed up in the lab one afternoon, Molly had realised she was pregnant and was deeply hurt by his actions.

"Molly, I'm sure you're wondering where I've been. I..." he started.

Molly looked up and his words just died. "I'm pregnant. It's yours. I'm keeping it. I have a meeting." She picked up her mobile and a note book from the bench, then rushed past him.

Thus started an endless game of awkward encounters. Finally the Watsons attempted some sort of 'dinner party intervention' that ended in Molly storming out and not speaking to either of them for over a month.

Mycroft abducted her four times, sent her countless cheques in the post (which she immediately shredded) and at one point he actually begged Molly to simply go see his baby brother. She adamantly refused.

She finally excepted a position on the Isle of White shortly before her due date. Odd that she would be offered the position at all since she would be going on maternity leave shortly there after. She was certain Mycroft Holmes was to thank (though she never actually thanked him).

Sherlock had still failed to make any real attempt to contact her concerning the child they had made together. So she decided she needed a fresh start.

When Edmond was two and a half months old Sherlock showed up at her new house looking remorseful and asking, in his very Sherlock way, if he could see his son.

And that's how it began. Every so often he would show up and allow his child a moment of his time. Eddie adored his father. Worshiped him. After the third visit Molly told Sherlock that she at least required some advanced notice. So a text would come at some point the day before or the day of a visit.

Molly was still hurt, but not nearly as angry. She had grown up without a mother, she wasn't going to deny Eddie his father, no matter what. Besides, Molly knew that Sherlock Holmes was a good man who had made some bad decisions, especially where she was concerned. He seemed to be trying with his son.

She regularly took Edmond Douglass Hooper to visit his only grandparents, Sherlock's mum and dad. She made the trip at least once a month. She also made sure Mycroft saw him as often as he wished. John and Mary came down around holidays, she didn't really mind (as long as they didn't bring up Sherlock.) Life continued. She was happy, well... she had Eddie and he made her happy.

When she thought about it she realised that the only thing Sherlock ever gave her (other than heartache) was her son. He was magnificent. He was all hers. Except when he was Sherlock's. When his father was around Molly simply didn't exist. Which was fine. Their time was rare, so it was precious.

Molly went into the guest room and checked it one more time. It was ready. Sherlock had asked if he could stay the night this time. He'd only done that once before. She turned on the bedside light for him  
then went into her room, and cried.

* * *

"How long are you staying Papa?" Eddie asked his father.

"I need to leave tomorrow night," Sherlock answered.

"A case?"

Sherlock looked into his son's big brown eyes, eyes that were almost painfully identical to Molly Hooper's and he lied. "Yeah, a big case."

"Will you tell me about it when you're finished?"

"Sure, of course," he said, then he kissed his son goodnight.

As he walked out into the hallway he checked for signs of Molly, hoping by chance that she'd still be awake. No luck. Not that he had any idea what he'd say to her if she had been. He just wanted to look at her. He'd only seen her for a minute before she had veered off toward the sitting room, just like always.

He started for the spare room when he heard a soft sound coming from her bedroom.

 _Oh_ _,_ _God no!_ Somehow, miraculously, Sherlock had never experienced this... The whole ordeal of impregnating Molly- hurting her- letting her down, he'd managed to never witness this... he'd not heard her cry, not seen one tear fall because of his awful behavior. Like the coward he truly was, he had managed not to be there for any of the difficult things.

He'd paid no price for his sins (not exactly true). He still lived at Baker Street. He still solved crimes, and he still had all of his friends (well perhaps not all). Molly had given up everything. Her job, her flat, her life, even her bloody cat, all because she needed to get away from him. All he'd given up was her. _Oh, but what a cost._

He couldn't move even though he desperately wanted to. He stayed there and listened to Molly sob, alone, in her room. In all likelihood, this was not an isolated occurrence.

Contrary to popular opinion, he too experienced these moments of oppressive sadness. Yes, Sherlock Holmes had... _feelings._ When those awful emotions plagued him Sherlock would pick a fight with John or even Mary if he was feeling particularly dangerous.

Sometimes he'd walk the streets threatening himself with old habits; going so far as trying to find a dealer. Only to pull out his phone, at the last minute, and look at a photo of his son then turn back around and go home and abuse his violin.

Other times, though he'd deny it to his dying breath, he'd just sit in his chair and imagine Eddie in Baker Street, a small violin in his hands; practicing his scales. Molly in John's old chair reading a book, her glasses slipping down her nose as she became engrossed in the plot. He'd picture all of this and he'd smile for only a moment until the tears would start to fall. _Not so much a machine after all._

When a man realises he's lost everything that would ever matter to him; the world starts to look different. The way Molly looked at him that afternoon in St. Barts, telling him she was pregnant then storming off; he knew she hated him and frankly he didn't blame her one bit.

What was he thinking? Making love with no protection and not even telling her how much he loved her? And then... then leaving for two months. _God, he was a fool._ He deserved the pain. He deserved to be ostracized. He _didn't_ deserve to be allowed to see his son and watch him grow up. But Molly would never do that to him. He, however, made a decision. He'd only spend enough time with the boy so that he knew he had a father and that he loved him. He wouldn't encroach on their lives. No, they deserved better. Certainly better than he could provide.

He had hoped that Molly would have met a nice man by now; he was shocked that she hadn't. She was brilliant and kind and loving and oh, so beautiful. At one point he thought it was perhaps Edmond. But his research proved that many men Molly's age didn't have a problem with single mothers.

She wasn't looking as it turned out. She wasn't trying. That puzzled Sherlock to no end. She had so much love to give. He knew better than anyone; she had freely given her love to him for years and he'd thrown it back in her face, like the bastard that he was.

Suddenly her bedroom door opened and a puffy eyed, red faced Molly Hooper ran smack into Sherlock's chest. His hands automatically reached up and took her by the shoulders. They stood there frozen for twenty-nine seconds.

"Why are you standing outside my door?" she asked in a surprisingly strong voice.

"Why were you crying?" he asked in response.

They continued to stare and he didn't let go.

"I do that sometimes," she replied honestly.

And as if someone else were speaking for him, as if he weren't in command of his own voice, Sherlock Holmes said, "So do I."

"Why?" Molly asked in a whisper.

"Because I left. And then you... left."

Tears started falling down Molly's cheeks once again. She couldn't speak.

"I should have told you- I wanted to tell you that..." Sherlock swallowed. He felt like his throat was closing up, but no, she deserved the truth. His penance. "I should have told you that I love you, but I was too late. By the time I got back... and sorted...you h-hated me," he finally managed. "I don't, I don't blame you."

Molly raised her hand to her mouth and sobbed, shaking her head.

"Please, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said any..." he started but was cut off.

"You're lying! Why are you lying?" Molly choked out, as her knees buckled and she dropped to the floor.

Sherlock caught her and eased her to her knees. "I'm not. Molly, I'm so sorry," he said kneeling in front of her, trying to get her to look at him. He gave up and simply held her to his chest while she cried.

Finally she stopped crying as hard, and took a deep breath. "I... I don't hate you. I never did. God, you hurt me... crushed me. I thought... I thought you regretted it. At first I was confused, then I felt dirty and used but I never... oh, Sherlock I couldn't hate you."

"Of course you could- you should... I... Molly?" Oh, right. Molly Hooper was incapable of that kind of malice. Sherlock cradled her head in his large hands. "What the hell have we been doing?"

"Do you, I mean, still..." she started.

"It kills me to leave you and Eddie every time I go; I hate it. I'll do anything, Molly. I'll move here. I'll quite consulting. I'll get a proper job."

Molly looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "Why in God's name would you do that?"

He moved to take her hands in his. "To prove that I can be a proper, ah... _mate?_ Father? Husband? I don't know what you want..."

"You are a good father, Sherlock. Eddie adores you. He just wants to see you more. And as for a... _mate_." She quirked her eyebrow. "I fell in love with a consulting detective, thank you very much. Please don't change."

He was smiling but it quickly dropped. "I have changed Molly. I live for the times I'm with my son, and the fleeting moments I see your face. Cases, the Work... they don't..." He paused and looked down at their joined hands. "It's not the same."

Molly reached up and stroked his ridiculously sculpted cheekbones. "I know what you're saying Sherlock. I do. But if this is real- if you're serious about us, me and Eddie, there's no going back. If you hurt me, you hurt your son. Understand?"

Sherlock looked at her, this woman with whom he'd shared one night of unbelievable sex and over ten years of longing. Oh, they may have given into passion after the Moriarty business, but he'd been fighting it for years... so many years. _Such a fool_. He wasn't losing it now, not when he finally had a chance. "I love you Molly Hooper. I've loved you for so long. Before that night- before the Fall. I will, if you allow it, prove it to you for the rest of our lives. Please... may I kiss you?"

Then Molly did the most amazing thing. She smiled. The smile he'd missed for the last five years. _His smile._ The one he had coveted and pulled from the corners of his mind palace on the loneliest of nights. It was breathtaking.

"Of course," she said.

He kissed her like a man dying of thirst. He kissed her like it was his first kiss and the last kiss he'd ever be allowed. He kept on kissing that amazing woman, in the hallway of the small house on the Isle of White until he felt a small hand on his shoulder.

"Papa? You're in my way," Eddie said, pulling Molly and Sherlock out of their passionate embrace.

"Oh, um Edmond," Molly said as she quickly stood up. "Why are you awake?"

"I have to wee."

"Right," Molly said, but still didn't move.

"Mummy, you're in front of the loo."

Sherlock jumped up and both adults shifted out of the child's way as he gave them the most peculiar look. As Eddie shut the door Sherlock turned to Molly and said, "Well that was awkward."

"Now what?"

"He'll have questions," Sherlock said as he started pacing.

Moments later Eddie came out drying his hands on his pj's. Molly crouched down in front of him. "Are you okay love?" she asked.

He looked at her, then at Sherlock. "Yeah. I forgot to _go_ before bed."

"Oh, right," Molly said. "I mean... well... before, when you saw..."

"You mean about you and Papa kissing?"

Sherlock got down on his knees and took one of his son's hands. "Yes, Eddie. Do you have questions?"

"No. I've seen kissing on telly. River's always kissing the Doctor."

Molly and Sherlock both laughed. "But what were asking is, do you have questions about us, me and Papa?"

Eddie yawned and shook his head. "Oh no. I deduced that you two would be together by Christmas at the latest. Can I go back to bed now?" he asked his stunned parents.

They just nodded.

* * *

 ** _I would love to know what you think (since it was a bit outside my comfort zone!) Thanks so much for reading.~Lil~_**


	8. Good Times

_**Good Times**_

 _Okay, so this 'Journey' requires a little story because someone's going to say "Hey! You're cheating! Good Times is by Sam Cooke!" And they wouldn't be wrong. But it was covered by Journey in 1978. *_ _Fun fact... it was also covered by The Grateful Dead. (and a thousand other artists) If you You Tube it, you get to see Bob Weir in super short shorts... if you're into that sort of thing... not that I am. (psst... I totally have a crush on mid-1990's Bob Weir... Don't judge!)*_

 _Disclaimer: This story is NOT to be taken seriously. It TOTALLY jumps left of the canon. Like pretends that canon doesn't exist. I took some serious liberties here... but it's all in good fun. It's cracky and everyone's OCC. I've done some serious stuff lately and needed to clean out the old Lil brain a bit. I just wanted to play with the idea of Sherlock saying 'NO! I'm not going on a death mission!'_

 _Thanks to MizJoely for betaing this. But I take full credit for any mistakes._

 _I own nothing. This one's a strong **T.**_

* * *

Molly quickly wrapped a robe around her freshly washed body and rushed to answer the demanding knocking on her door. Whoever it was had better have a good excuse for causing such a disturbance at nearly eleven o'clock at night. She knew it couldn't be Sherlock. First of all he had a key – he'd had one for years – secondly he hadn't been in contact with her for weeks and lastly she'd heard he was in some kind of trouble. Well, now that she thought about it...

She opened the door and was immediately caught in an embrace by the man himself.

"Oh, darling. Thank God," Sherlock said as he held her tightly.

"Sherlock, what the hell..?"

He cut her off by capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. A toe-curling, earth-shattering, fire-starting kiss. When it ended he moved his lips to her ear. "Just play along." Was all he said before turning back to the door to address the two black-suited goons, who she had only just noticed. "Thank you so much, Frick," He nodded first to one then the other. "Frack. But it's my understanding that I'm to spend my last night in England in my chosen location," Sherlock tilted his head toward Molly and winked. "I choose her," he said with an unrecognizable gleam in his eye.

Neither men seemed impressed, at all. 'Frick' raised his wrist to his mouth and spoke into it. "Package delivered to the Doctor." Then he touched an invisible earpiece and nodded to 'Frack'. "You have until six am Mr. Holmes. We'll be waiting." The agents stared forward, unmoving.

"Fun!" Sherlock said, then he shut the door and pulled a very confused Molly through her flat. They made it to the bedroom, which unfortunately shared a wall with the same hallway that currently housed the government agents they'd just left. Sherlock turned taking her by the shoulders. "Do you trust me, Molly? After everything I've done, all the mistakes... do you trust me?" he whispered.

Molly was suddenly terrified. He seemed manic, almost vulnerable, similar to the night he asked for her help in defeating Moriarty, but with more frenetic energy. "Oh my God, what's happening?"

He moved his hands to either side of her face. "Do you still believe in me Molly Hooper?"

Her answer came without hesitation. "Yes, of course I do, Sherlock."

Sherlock's face, his posture, suddenly relaxed. "You have no idea how much that means to me." He kissed her cheek. "Okay, now I need your mobile. Those bastards took mine."

Molly grabbed her phone from her nightstand and handed it to him. She sat down and watched as he paced and furiously, typed what appeared to be at least two dozen messages in the span of five minutes.

He seemed to be waiting on a reply when he paused and noticed her again. "Where's Tobias?" he asked looking around the room.

"Toby ran away while I was dating Tom. Hated that dog of his." She thought for a moment. "Or may he hated Tom..."

Sherlock sat down next her for the first time since they entered her room. "I'm so sorry, Molly, I... I should've..." He took a breath.

Molly chuckled. "Sherlock, you didn't know. It's been months. I miss him, but I'm fine."

He stood up again. "It just that I'm never... I don't..." Whatever he was going to say was interrupted by Molly's chiming mobile. "Yes!" he exclaimed as he read it.

"What is it?"

He typed as response and said, "Freedom."

"What?"

"Okay, we have about an hour to kill and I'm afraid that your thin walls aren't working for us in this situation," he said as he walked to the window, looked out into the alley below, then drew the curtain.

"Am I supposed to understand that, Sherlock? Or anything that's happening, for that matter?" Molly asked as she stood up.

He turned back to her, suddenly looking like he'd remembered something. "Of course, I haven't really explained. But now's not the time. We have to make love," he said with a smile and nod.

"What?" Molly shouted.

Sherlock planted his hands on his hips and looked thoughtful. "You know what, you're right. These aren't the right circumstances. We'll have to improvise."

Molly stared at him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Pretend, Molly. My God you dated that Meat Dagger bloke, surely you're accustomed to faking it."

"Wh-Why... what... Why?" she finally managed. "Why do we have to..."

"Because I'm here to spend my last night of freedom with the woman I love," he explained as if she were an idiot.

Molly felt her skin flush hot and tears sting in her eyes before she could properly start processing what he'd said. _His freedom? What had he done?_ _Oh, Sherlock!_ her mind screamed. Then everything else rushed in. _Again?_ He was using her again. She was just a quick pit-stop to freedom. He was arranging some sort of escape from... whatever he'd done- whatever consequence he was facing. Her heart, which she really thought had finally come to terms with the maddening genius, splintered and cracked. Then suddenly she was flat on her back, Sherlock pressing her into the mattress, peppering kisses to her wet cheeks.

"No, no, no, Molly. I'm so sorry. You're wrong. You've got it all wrong. I'm not using you, I promise. I'm kidnapping you. Please stop crying. Please, please. Sh, sh, shhhhh." More kisses on her eyes, her nose, her chin.

Again, her mind tried to keep up with his words, and now his actions. _What?_ "You're what? You're kidnapping me?"

Sherlock was kissing her neck, not really paying attention to her words as he had managed to widen the gap on the top of her dressing gown. "Hmmm?" he hummed against her skin.

Molly was torn. His lips were incredibly distracting, but what on earth was he talking about? "Um, Sh-Sherlock, did you just say you're kidnapping me?" she finally managed.

He raised up, reluctantly, closing her dressing gown just before things got _immodest_. After one last look at her now-covered chest, he moved to lay beside her, propping up on his elbow. "Yes," he said in a hushed tone. He kept his arm around her waist, holding her close. "Don't worry, if everything goes to plan, it will be _most_ pleasant." The gleam in his eyes was downright devilish.

"Where are we going?"

He smirked and bent down taking her earlobe in his teeth for a moment before releasing it. "You've clearly never been abducted before, Miss Hooper. That's not how this works."

Molly giggled.

* * *

An hour later Molly found herself being ushered into the back of a limousine in the alley behind her building. The trip down the fire escape was less harrowing than she'd expected, though at the bottom she'd had to jump into Sherlock's arms because the ladder was stuck. She was relatively unharmed, and now sitting across from them most beautiful woman she'd ever seen in her life.

"Nice catch Mr. Holmes. I have to admit, when I received your text message to 'away' yourself and a companion, I assumed it was your other doctor friend. But this one is much lovelier. Though this does explain the need for lingerie. John doesn't seem the type." The woman leaned in and offered Molly her hand. "Irene Adler, at your service."

Molly took it, a bit mesmerized. "Molly Hooper."

"A pleasure to meet you." Miss Adler brought Molly's hand up and kissed the back of it, leaving a bright red stain on her skin.

Molly giggled.

Sherlock grabbed Molly's hand away from The Woman. "All right, you've had your fun." He pulled Molly into his side. "Is everything taken care of?"

Irene finally took her eyes off of Molly. "Everything's in place."

"What happened to the agent that was stationed in the alley?" he asked.

"I found out what he liked," she answered.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You drugged him and stuffed him in your trunk."

"You know me so well, Mr. Holmes." She studied him for a moment. "You should try to calm down."

He clung a bit tighter to the woman in his arms. "Who says I'm not calm?"

"Well you're currently trying to squeeze the life out of our friend here. I can only assume you feel threatened by me. Rightfully so." She winked at Molly, causing her to blush.

"Woman..." Sherlock warned.

"I've gone to a lot of trouble for you two. Can't I enjoy myself?"

"Not at Molly's expense."

"She's not complaining."

Molly turned to Sherlock and whispered, "You are crushing me... a bit."

Irene laughed as Sherlock loosened his grip on the pathologist.

"Sherlock," Molly said. "Where are we going?"

"Sorry, I can't tell you." He looked at Irene. "Her first kidnapping." He shook his head.

Irene leaned in. "You know, you could come with me instead. He's such a bore. All that science, and deduction. Surely you'll tire of it, eventually."

Molly looked up at Sherlock. She was still completely overwhelmed by the events of the past two hours. He'd only explained bits and pieces of what was going on. He'd done something unforgivable, at least in the eyes of the British government, but he told her he'd done it for the right reasons and that he was tired of _the game_. He told her that he wanted a fresh start, and that that fresh start included her. It was really no question at all, not that she was considering taking Miss Adler up on her offer (although she really was lovely). But she found herself ready to give up everything for the beautiful genius who was holding her so tightly she felt like she might burst.

"I won't tire of it, Miss Adler," Molly said looking at Sherlock. "I'm quite certain a lifetime with Sherlock wouldn't be enough."

Suddenly Sherlock's lips descended upon hers. He kissed her passionately, apparently unconcerned that they had an audience. The kiss continued until Molly heard Miss Adler groan.

"Okay, I've seen enough. You two will cause my teeth to rot." She knocked on the glass partition.

Molly and Sherlock broke out of their kiss. "Sorry to upset your delicate sensibilities. I know how these things..." Sherlock started.

"Save it!" Irene interrupted. "The house is fully stocked. Plenty of food, clothes and untraceable electronics." She reached into her bag. "Here are your identities to get out of this country and into the next." Then she held out her hand to Sherlock and raised an eyebrow when he put nothing in it. "Molly's phone, you hormonal idiot!"

Sherlock jumped a bit then quickly retrieved the device.

She watched him for a moment. "I don't believe I've ever seen a man in more desperate need of a good shag in all my life." She turned to Molly. "Don't get your hopes up for the first time, love. Or tease him, make a game of it." She turned back to Sherlock. "I know I would."

Suddenly the car stopped and Irene gathered her things. "Well, my work here is done. You two enjoy your new life." She started to get out, then paused and mumbled _fuck it_ under her breath as she turned back to Molly. "Just one?" she said as she took her face in her hands and laid a soft, sensual kiss on her lips. She studied her for a moment. "Such a shame." Then she was gone.

"What a strange woman," Molly said, getting her bearings.

"You have no idea," Sherlock said as he pulled her closer once again.

* * *

 _ **Six Months Later... Somewhere Far, Far Away...**_

Molly kissed Sherlock on the top of his head as he sat at the table, by the pool. "Still reading about that magic detective?" she asked, picking up his empty coffee cup.

"My job would be infinitely more interesting if I could wield magic, don't you think?"

Molly giggled. "You want a refill, I assume?"

He'd already gone back to his book. "Please."

Molly went back inside the house.

Sherlock was fairly engrossed in his book, so much so, that he almost missed the heavy foot falls of the British government as he approached. "Morning Mycroft," he said, not looking up.

His brother stood for a moment, waiting for Sherlock's full attention. When he didn't get it, he pulled out a chair and sat down. "Dear God, what are you reading?"

"Fiction," Sherlock said as he finally put the book down and looked at Mycroft. What a picture the pair must have painted. Mycroft in his three piece suit, not even a button loosened. He, of course, had his ever faithful brolly with him. Sherlock, on the other hand was wearing a pair of blue and orange Bermuda shorts... and nothing else. "What can I do for you, brother dear?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Come home. Why else would I come to this God-forsaken, overly sunny, tourist trap?"

"Ummm... no."

The older man sighed. "Sherlock, I've been patient. I took care of things. I paid people - a LOT of people, to make it seem like you went on that mission." Sherlock was looking out across the majestic blue water. "I'm not even angry anymore. I understand not wanting to be sent off to your death. As unpatriotic as it was..." he grumbled under his breath.

Still not looking at his brother Sherlock said, "I suppose you want a thank you?"

"Heaven's no."

"Good."

"But the mission's over. Come back to London. What could possibly be keeping you here?" Mycroft asked.

Sherlock turned back to his brother. "Good times, Myke," he said with an oddly serene smile on his face.

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm rather enjoying myself. I don't really want to leave."

"When are you going to grow up, Sherlock?"

Several minutes passed. The tension was palpable.

Sherlock adjusted himself; his posture becoming more relaxed causing Mycroft even more distress. "I had no real plan when I went to Molly's flat that night other than to find a way out of the mess I'd gotten myself in. She'd helped before, of course. She's always been there for me... always. As I was awaiting my fate, at first I had decided to accept my punishment. I'd killed a man, I deserved whatever my country decided to do with me. But the more I thought about it, the more pissed off I got." He tensed up and leaned in. "I've killed before, Mycroft. Many times. For you. For our country. And everyone wanted that man dead!" He sat back once again. "I did you all a favor. I wasn't going down for that."

"I had a contingency plan, Sherlock."

"I'm sure you did. But, as it turns out, it wasn't necessary."

"You kidnapped your pathologist!" Mycroft snapped.

"Semantics."

Taking a deep breath, the older man said, "Fine. Have you thought about your friends?"

"The Watsons had a lovely holiday here just over a month ago. They seem to be doing quite well." Sherlock observed his brother's face. He was actually shocked. _Oh, they fooled him... somehow._ "You're slipping."

"You must be bored."

"Not really. I've been helping out here and there. Not much crime, but enough. And I've been studying the local plant and animal life."

"Mummy!" He huffed. "She's furious, you know. You've disappeared once again. She may not forgive you this time!"

Sherlock looked at his brother, carefully. "Why don't you just say you're lonely, Mycroft. There's no shame in it."

"I'm not... lonely. But Mummy..."

"Trust me when I say she'll forgive me," Sherlock said, confidence oozing out of every word.

"Not this time, she's..." Mycroft started, but was halted when he heard the door of the house open.

"Oh, Mycroft!" Molly called out. "I didn't know you were here!"

Sherlock watched as it all fell into place for his brother. Then he turned to look at Molly, dressed in a light strappy thing that barely covered her expanding belly. He knew, of course that she was wearing a bathing suit underneath, but the sheer astonishment on Mycroft's face was quite priceless. Five months pregnant, lovely tan covering her normally pale skin; she was indeed glowing.

Molly sat Sherlock's coffee in front of him, walked over to Mycroft, kissed his cheek then sat down on Sherlock's knee. "How long will you be staying?" she asked.

"Ahh, I-I'm afraid I can't stay. Must be returning soon, Miss Hooper." He smiled, though it was slightly forced.

"Dr. Holmes," Sherlock corrected.

Mycroft blinked. "I'm sorry... Of course." He took yet another deep breath and thought for a moment. "The Watson's holiday."

"Finally caught up," Sherlock said before taking a drink of coffee.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for several moments. Mycroft stood up. "I really must be returning. London needs at least one Holmes to keep things running smoothly."

Molly and Sherlock both stood as well. Molly hugged Mycroft. Sherlock watched as his brother's eyes widened in shock. _This day just keeps getting better._

The embrace ended and Mycroft straightened his waistcoat. "You will come home before the birth, won't you? Surely you don't want your child born," He looked around the beautiful scenery with disdain. "Here."

Sherlock looped his arm around Molly's waist. "Oh, I don't know, Mycroft. This seems as good a place as any. After all, Tahiti is a magical place." He winked.

* * *

 _Some people will get my reference there at the end...hehehe. And the book that Sherlock was reading: The Dresden Files by Jim Butcher. Great series! A magic detective! FUN!_

 _Please let me know if you liked this little bit of cracky fun. And if I don't post anything before Christmas. Happy holidays to you all! Much love... Lil_


End file.
